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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24227224">The Weight</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/'>Anonymous</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Within/Without [7]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>9-1-1 (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>2x18 insert, 3x03 tag, M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 18:20:39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,160</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24227224</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Eddie's first day back after Shannon's death, and Buck won't stop hovering. An unsettling call gets Eddie thinking about the role Buck plays in his and Christopher's lives.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV), Evan “Buck” Buckley &amp; Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Within/Without [7]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1738876</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>447</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Anonymous</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Weight</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When something terrible happens to you, how long are you allowed before you’re supposed to be over it, and what happens if you’re not over it and take longer than the officially allotted time?</p>
<p>For Eddie, the answer was seven days. Seven days, and then he was back at the firehouse, suiting up with his teammates and ready to ride the engine till kingdom come, if need be. Tragedy, like everything else, could be taken in stride and shifted into a little-used portion of the brain. Where, hopefully, it would decompose naturally and out of sight.</p>
<p>Eddie was back at the firehouse seven days after Shannon’s accident. Buck and the others had been covering his shifts so he could handle the funeral and take care of Christopher, but enough was enough. He’d never been a man to sit idle, and he was tired of casseroles and condolences. His parents and sisters had finally gone back to El Paso; his family had shrunk down to the familiar rotation of Chris and Abuela and Pepa and Buck and Carla, which was how he preferred it. Life could finally go back to normal: if you looked at it macroscopically, Shannon’s renewed presence in their lives hadn’t been so much a new normal but a blip on that old normal. Nobody was moving back to Texas. He and Christopher would be fine.</p>
<p>His first shift back, though, and Buck was watching him like a hawk. It irked him. Buck had made himself indispensable all week; when he wasn’t covering Eddie’s shifts, he was keeping Christopher occupied, disposing of unwanted casseroles, and quietly defusing Eddie’s temper. He’d been gentle, unobtrusive. But now he was in full-on helicopter mode, hovering as Eddie changed into his uniform. “Bobby offered you another week,” he reminded him tersely.</p>
<p>“Don’t need it,” Eddie replied, just as brusque. “One was plenty.”</p>
<p>“Christopher—”</p>
<p>“Go ahead, Buckley. Tell me how to parent my own damn kid.”</p>
<p>“<em>Christopher</em>,” Buck said, “called me from Carla’s phone ten minutes ago to say he was worried about you being at work while you were sad.”</p>
<p>That was a gut-punch, but he was in trench-mode now. “Chris knows I have to do my job.”</p>
<p>Better angels be damned, he was hoping for something kinetic. The kind of call where the team sprang into action like the well-oiled machine that they were. But when the bell finally sounded, it was for a multi-car pileup on the PCH, no casualties but plenty of mild-to-moderate injuries. He ignored Buck’s chatter on the drive over, focusing on getting his head in the game.</p>
<p>They’d beaten the police to the crash site, a handful of cars crushed bumper-to-bumper and, most concerningly, a freight truck flipped sideways on the shoulder.</p>
<p>The truck was full of people.</p>
<p>“Jesus Christ,” he said.</p>
<p>“Eddie, get in there and talk to them,” Bobby ordered. “You’re on triage with Hen. Translate. Find out where they’re from, how long they’ve been in that truck.”</p>
<p>“This is the third time I’ve seen this,” Hen said as they jogged over to the truck. “Brace yourself, Eddie, it won’t be pretty.”</p>
<p>The stench was overpowering. Several dozen unwashed, perspiring bodies packed into that airless rectangle, bruised faces, frightened eyes, imploring hands. He swallowed down the bile rising in his throat. He knew about this sort of thing, of course he did, he grew up in El Paso, one of the most active border towns in the country. Refugees, human trafficking, ICE. But he’d never actually <em>seen </em>it, not like this.</p>
<p>“Me llamo Eddie, y a ella se llama Hen,” he said, identifying himself and Hen. “Somos bomberos y paramédicos. Estamos aquí para ayudar, tenemos agua y—”</p>
<p>“Inmigración?” one of the men interrupted.</p>
<p>“No,” Eddie said, “no inmigración. Cuéntenme sobre ustedes, de dónde son, quiénes están heridos o enfermos, dificultad para respirar…”</p>
<p>A few minutes later, he clambered down from the truck, sending Chimney in to join Hen. “They’re from Hidalgo, in central Mexico,” he told Bobby. “Some of them don’t even speak Spanish, they speak Nahuatl. Undocumented, obviously, and scared shitless. No one’s critical, but they’re all dehydrated and malnourished; Hen and Chim’ll have to administer a few IV lines and oxygen.”</p>
<p>“Dispatch is sending more ambulance units now,” Bobby said. “Buck is checking on the other cars now, why don’t you—”</p>
<p>“BACK THE HELL UP,” Buck’s voice suddenly bellowed from somewhere nearby. “This is LAFD jurisdiction right here, keep your distance, I’m warning you—”</p>
<p>The cops had finally arrived on the scene, and Buck was standing toe to toe with the officer in front, towering over him as he hollered at him to get back.</p>
<p>“Cap, what’s he doing?” Eddie said.</p>
<p>“I have no idea,” Bobby said, and they sprinted over. “Buck”—they each grabbed one of his arms and towed him a short distance away—“why the hell are you shouting at the police?”</p>
<p>Buck stared at them, wild-eyed. “<em>Cops</em>,” he said, wind-milling his arms. “Those people in the truck, they’re not documented, and the cops are gonna arrest them and they’ll get deported and we can’t let—”</p>
<p>“No, they won’t,” Bobby interrupted. “Los Angeles is a sanctuary city, Buck, the police don’t work with ICE here. No one’s getting arrested or deported.”</p>
<p>“Are you sure about that?” Buck demanded. “’Cause—”</p>
<p>“The LAPD doesn’t participate in immigration enforcement,” Bobby said. “Read the Standard Operating Guidelines sometime. Now I need you to stand down, cool off, and—”</p>
<p>“I think I saw kids in that truck. There were kids, right?” Buck asked.</p>
<p>Eddie nodded. An image of Christopher flashed through his mind, Christopher hungry and thirsty and scared and—</p>
<p>“That’s where I’m helping then,” Buck said, and stomped off without a backward glance.</p>
<p>Eddie exchanged a look with the Captain.</p>
<p>Bobby threw his hands up. “Go with Buck, keep an eye on him, make sure he doesn’t steal anyone’s children for safekeeping.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A few hours later they were back at the station. Eddie and Buck were sitting in the engine truck, ostensibly taking and replenishing inventory, but mostly being quietly pissed off at each other. Eddie had expected Bobby to write Buck up for the incident on the PCH, but, so far, no disciplinary action had been taken. As far as he knew, Buck hadn’t apologized, either.</p>
<p>Buck had an insubordinate streak; that was news to nobody. Occasionally Eddie wondered if it was actually a deep-seated <em>fear </em>of authority that Buck had, one that surfaced in peculiar ways. He’d seen it all in the Army. Some guys had an instinctive fear of authority figures that expressed itself as earnest respectfulness, even submissiveness. In Buck, this instinct came out as a sort of defiant defensive unwillingness to admit an error.</p>
<p>Eddie remembered a time in El Paso, a few years ago, right after Shannon left, driving somewhere with his dad, Christopher in the back seat, when they’d gotten pulled over by a patrol car. His dad had turned off the engine, rolled down his window, doffed his hat, and smiled at the white Sheriff’s Deputy. The Deputy had asked for their licenses, registration, and proof of insurance. Eddie had scowled and shifted in his seat, incapable of restraining the visceral, immature way his body responded to any form of reprimand from some jumped-up civilian playing at Border Patrol. Like a sullen teenager, he’d reached wearily and heavily into the glove compartment and collected all the documents the Deputy had requested. He slapped them into his father’s hands; his father, in turn, offered them to the Deputy ceremoniously, as if he were serving him horchata in a glass flute. The Deputy then explained that they had failed to stop fully at the stop sign. His father had nodded, and nodded again, and said sorry, sorry, sorry in his most careful English. The Deputy returned their documents, apparently reassured they were neither dangerous nor illegal. But before he let them go, he’d asked a final question:</p>
<p>“Is that car seat certified? Looks like it might be a little too big for—”</p>
<p>“It’s special needs,” Eddie had growled. “My son has CP. Can we go now, or do you have a daily quota of Mexicans to fill?”</p>
<p>The incident still rankled.</p>
<p>Maybe he and Buck weren’t all that different.</p>
<p>They just had different triggers.</p>
<p>“Look,” Buck said, breaking the silence at last, “I know it offends your, like, military sensibilities whenever I break rank or disagree with Bobby, but—”</p>
<p>“You’re too damn hotheaded, Buck, you—”</p>
<p>“—it’s such a fucked-up thing, those people, those families, risking their lives to get here and then getting shipped straight back, and—”</p>
<p>“—should have known better than to—”</p>
<p>“—I know it’s stupid but I saw those kids in the truck, and I couldn’t stop thinking about Christopher, and how I’d feel if someone tried to send him away and put him in one of those detention centers, and I kind of freaked, okay?”</p>
<p>Eddie stared at him, angry invectives evaporating from his tongue.</p>
<p>Not different triggers.</p>
<p>The same trigger.</p>
<p>
  <em>Christopher. </em>
</p>
<p>“Buck,” he started, and tears were pricking at his eyes because his heart was full to bursting. Buck had seen those refugee kids and thought of Chris, too, and his first instinct had been to protect them. Eddie wanted to find the words to tell Buck how much that meant to him, to thank him properly for how he’d stepped up since Shannon died—since before Shannon, actually, for months and months now—</p>
<p>But the words wouldn’t come.</p>
<p>So he said something utterly stupid instead. “Christopher’s white. I mean, basically.”</p>
<p>“Huh?” Buck was giving him a weird look.</p>
<p>“He takes after his mom. Sure, he’s got my last name, but I don’t have to worry about him, like, getting the wrong kind of attention for the way he looks. Not like my dad’s family, not like me. And I’m glad, okay, because Chris gets enough shit for his CP.” </p>
<p>Buck didn’t say anything.</p>
<p>“<em>What</em>?” Eddie snapped, kind of disgusted with himself but unwilling to backpedal. “Shannon’s dead now, there’s no more safety net for Christopher, no more happy family happy ending for either of us, so yeah, if it makes me feel better that no one’s gonna tell my kid to go back to Mexico, then—”</p>
<p>His face was suddenly smushed against an unyielding expanse of muscle, and he realized he was in Buck’s arms, Buck was hugging him, and—damn it all to hell—he was crying. Since his pride was already dashed to smithereens, he wrapped his arms around Buck and held onto him for dear life. It was private and quiet in the engine truck, and as long as he kept his ragged breathing muffled in the rapidly dampening shoulder of Buck’s uniform, he could let the terribleness of the day and the week wash over him without <em>too </em>much shame. The shame was still there, of course, waiting in the wings; it would come out later to taunt him for this humiliating display of weakness. But maybe, just for a few minutes, he could let Buck help him bear the weight of it, for Christopher’s sake.</p>
<p>“I know it’s not even a whole year that we’ve known each other,” Buck said, still holding him tight enough to make his ribs creak, “but I—I think you’re the best friend I’ve ever had, Eddie. And, like—I love Christopher, you know I’d do anything for the two of you. I’d die for you in a heartbeat, no questions asked.”</p>
<p>“Don’t fucking die,” Eddie said, pulling back to glower at him. “That’s not allowed, Buck.”</p>
<p>Buck smiled, undeterred. “I’ll be your safety net.”</p>
<p>“I think you already are,” Eddie said.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Surviving a tsunami was a close enough brush with death to last a lifetime; Eddie could only pray that Christopher would never find himself in that kind of mortal peril again.</p>
<p>But he’d never had much religion, Eddie. He put his faith elsewhere.</p>
<p>He believed in Buck.</p>
<p>Buck, who had saved Christopher’s life.</p>
<p>Buck, who fought for Christopher and never gave up.</p>
<p>There was the superhuman rescue, of course. Christopher plucked from the water and stowed safely on the ladder truck as Buck saved a dozen others, more. But the part that broke Eddie—the part that had him sinking to the floor in the middle of the night and sobbing into his hands—had occurred hours later. When the ghastly flotilla of corpses had drifted past their refuge on the truck, and Buck had placed himself between Christopher and that terrible sight, directing his attention elsewhere, <em>I spy with my little eye</em>, until the horror had passed.</p>
<p>The tenderness of that broke Eddie’s heart.</p>
<p>He didn’t know what to do with the feelings spilling out of his cracked, battered heart. Buck was more than a safety net, more than a pack animal to carry all of Eddie’s baggage; Eddie wasn’t sure <em>what </em>he was, or what he could be.</p>
<p>Soon, Eddie hoped, he would be ready to find out.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Can anyone tell me why this show is so damn hard to tag? Is it some kind of conspiracy against Buck &amp; Eddie? </p>
<p>Thank you oh so much for reading, you mean the world.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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